Skill and Support
by DreamingAngelWolf
Summary: Clint and Bucky are both legendary sharpshooters - undoubtedly the best in S.H.I.E.L.D. Sometimes, though, even the best have doubts. (Winterhawk Week Day 3: Snipers)


**AN: **(24.9.14) Winterhawk week day 3: snipers! This is how I got into Winterhawk in the first place - seeing them as Sniper Bros (and then taking it further). I went for a more serious tone with this one though, because as much as I love Clint the Goofball, I also think he has a serious working attitude too. Kind of like he slips into The Zone or something, idk...

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><p><span>Skill and Support<span>

The Austrian mountains were colder than usual at this time of year. Snow piled high on the trees and rocks, sat fat and lazy on the log cabin through the rifle's scope, and everything was perfectly - unnervingly - still. Even Bucky, whose muscles were beginning to ache and cramp from holding his position for so long, and Clint, who was known to only be still in the deepest of sleeps.

Exhaling slowly, Bucky tried to lick some warmth back into his lips (with the opposite result). "How long now?" he breathed.

"Thirty-nine minutes," Clint murmured back, eyes never leaving the cabin. It confused Bucky why he was the one with the rifle when Clint was the better marksman - a fact he was not so loathe to admit, contrary to S.H.I.E.L.D gossip - but together the two of them were formidable snipers, and he was hardly going to complain. The waiting game was oddly comfortable, even in these conditions, and a distant part of him craved the near-thoughtlessness it demanded of its players. Shivering, Bucky pushed that admission way back, and stared through the scope with renewed vigilance.

The game continued in silence, as always, and its own pace; long enough for the cold to feel natural, almost warm, around them. The deathly cabin was all Bucky could see. He longed to turn his head a fraction to the left, enough so he could see Clint lying beside him in a way Bucky so rarely saw: serious, focused, ready to show the world that he was more than just a circus act turned big-shot hero. The transformation fascinated him, and he wanted to know -

"Quail is in sight," Clint murmured. Bucky tracked the man leaving the cabin, breathing steadily as adrenaline knocked his heart rate up. The radio whined quietly, and Clint responded with "Negative."

He looked happy, Bucky observed. It was cold, he was almost knee-deep in snow, and he was happy. It stopped surprising him a long time ago how people often looked so innocent on their own. He still questioned how many of them had been.

"Get ready," Clint muttered as the man turned back to the cabin.

Bucky swallowed; he was starting to feel nervous, and he didn't like it. A lot was at stake here - he had one shot, and if he missed, an actual, confirmed innocent could be hurt instead. The man was solidly in his crosshairs. His back was turned, and he called to someone inside, and Bucky frowned.

The radio crackled as a blonde-haired woman stepped into view. "Message received," Clint said, and let it go. "Kill order just came through. Take the shot."

She had her arms around his neck, smiling, laughing at something he said. Flashbacks flickered at the edge of Bucky's mind, and he exhaled shakily. "They're too close together."

"No they're not. Your angle's good."

"Clint, what if I don't hit the target?"

"You will."

"What if I go through both of them? I've done it before -"

"The Winter Soldier did it, and he didn't care." The man tickled her, forcing them to separate, and in mock outrage she bent down to scoop up some snow. A hand squeezed the seam of Bucky's shoulder. "You can do this, Bucky. I know you can. No innocents are going to get hurt today. Target's there, clear shot, easy as training."

They could've been any happy couple in the world, enjoying a remote holiday in the highest reaches of Austria. They circled each other, snow in hand, and as the man's face came into view Bucky shut himself down, tapped into a part of him colder than any Austrian winter, and pulled the trigger.

"Target down," Clint murmured as the woman crumpled, and Bucky came back to himself with a ragged breath. "Waiting for kill confirmation." He ejected the capsule and watched Agent Quartermain through the scope. He stuck to the script, ducking round the side of the house for a few minutes then tentatively crawling out to the woman's body. When he ran back inside without touching her, Clint was back on the radio: "Kill confirmed. Rendezvous with Quail ETA 0930. Hawkeye out." Climbing stiffly to his feet, Clint said to Bucky, "You might owe Clay a drink. Looks like he made it a little easier for you."

Blinking, Bucky tried to pull himself together and began shakily dismantling the rifle. "Didn't want to hit him," he mumbled, remembering a few times he'd gone through non-targets to hit his intended victims. He stood up, wincing at the change his body went through, watching the memories play out on the blank, undisturbed snow next to where he'd been lying, flickering red -

"Hey." Clint stood in front of him. With one hand he cupped Bucky's icy jaw, taking his right hand in the other (though really, with the gloves and the temperature, it wouldn't have made a difference which hand he held) and rubbing his fingers firmly. "You did it," he said, "you made the shot. Just like everyone knew you could." He smiled. "Can't wait to brag about your skill to Natasha when we get back."

"She already knows," he said half-heartedly, but Clint just leaned in and kissed his cheek.

"Then I'll remind her." Letting go of Bucky, he bent down to collect the radio and the rifle stand. "Come on, we're due to meet Clay in thirty-five minutes. If we get there early we can have a coffee or a hot chocolate or something, try and warm up a bit."

Slinging the bagged-up rifle over his shoulder, Bucky watched Clint go for a moment, before asking, "Why wasn't it you?" Clint stopped, looked back at him in confusion, and he repeated, "Why weren't you taking the shot? You've got a better eye than me, and you don't... hesitate."

Clint sighed, sounding a tad impatient. "Because I'm not so good at shooting in the cold," he answered. "I get all shivery, and it messes with my sight - now can we go please? Coffee? Civilisation? Warmth?"

Taking a moment to analyse his response - and deciding that the real reason probably wasn't important after all - Bucky nodded and set off after him, keeping his head down and making sure the snow stayed perfectly blank in front of him.

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> Anyone else remember Clay Quartermain from Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Heroes? Cool little side-character. He needs more love, bless him. As always, please do feel free to prompt here or on Tumblr! Or make stuff a favourite, I like when that happens too ;D


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